1.

The wind battered her body, but Carla couldn't care less. The day was finally over and she only had one thing on her mind. Her head was throbbing relentlessly, but she tried to ignore it and focused on that one big order she had just signed with Macnee.

The business had been going under, but finally, after having spent the last few days gallivanting from one meeting to another trying to secure an order, she had finally managed to find a way to save them and keep them afloat for the next few weeks.

It was still early days, but the business was finally recuperating after Hayley's loss.

"The Livingstons are expecting their bloomin' order on Tuesday…" she had told them, trying to hold in her tears, even though her voice was cracking with every word that came out of her mouth. It had been hard to keep up her façade on that day. Seeing everyone gathered round Hayley's machine had only made it worse. She was half expecting Hayley to walk in on them at any minute asking them what they were sulking about with that gentle heartwarming smile on her face.

"So I think if…," Peter interrupted her knowing how hard it was for her, "if I explain the situation to them, I'm sure they wouldn't mind extending the deadline. If not, then I'm not sure we'd want to do business with them anyway, would we? And I'll sort that out." He looked down at Carla knowing he had to be there for her, and do all he could for her. He'd wronged her in the past, but regardless of all he'd done, it broke him seeing her like that for he still loved her. "So that's it then. Factory closed for today."

If only it was half as easy as Peter had made it sound it would be. Peter left soon after; his fatherly duties calling out to him. Meanwhile, Carla stayed at Underworld. She had insisted she was fine, and with a slight nod he was gone. As much as she had wanted to lie in his hands and let him hold her, she had also yearned to be on her own. Talking to Roy had reminded her of her own past; of Paul and Liam. She knew how he was feeling. She had been there many times before. That kind of love wasn't something that ever faded away. As her words had come out she could see them all lined up in front of her—all the people she had once cared about but had now lost; "she's always going to be right here," she had told him, "with you. Right here. What made Hayley special to you, what you treasured about her, will stay right here with you. Nobody's going to take that away ever." She had begrudged Paul for what he had done to her for so long, but when life had been tough she had always found herself wishing that he would appear and hold her in his arms. He was her first savior; the one who had saved her from the desperate life at home. As for Liam, thinking about him was enough to bring all the pain of losing him back. She loved Peter with all her heart. She often felt as though Liam had sent him to her to help her through what life had thrown at her. The two of them were the loves of her life, but as much as she loved Peter, she knew no one would ever fill that hole that Liam had left. Peter had simply occupied another big part of her heart, without which she knew she wouldn't be there. Memories played in her mind, as a sob racked her body and she found herself in tears again.

An hour later, she was still sat in the same place, with a bottle of whiskey staring at her. She longed for her lips to kiss the neck of the bottle, but she tried to submerge her craving by thinking of Peter. She couldn't do it to him. She didn't want to let the bottle be the one source of relinquishing her from her feelings. She knew that once the first bottle was down, she would only crave for that same sense of relief the next day and the day after that. She knew that if that was to happen, it was more than likely that she would end up taking Peter down with her. He had already confessed to her, not more than a month ago, that he had been craving a glass of that demonic golden liquid. She wouldn't bare it if he fell off his wagon again. It had taken him ages to recuperate and he had been doing so well.

She got up from her chair, and went to peep out of the office's window, out to the factory floor. The place was deserted. Silence echoed in that dark stillness; a darkness that was broken by the sole light coming from the desk lamp on Hayley's old machine. She had always admired Hayley. She was everything she wasn't. She always kept her cool. She was always smiling. She always knew what to say or do, like the time she had held her hand after Frank had done the unspeakable. She was optimistic. She was brave and kind and she knew how to love. A noise suddenly halted her thoughts; thoughts that had racked her face with new tears. It took her a few seconds to realise that it was coming from her own pursed lips. As she finally let herself cry, a voice whispered in her head convincing her to pour a glass of whiskey down her throat.

Half a bottle down, and tired of crying, she finally started to calm down, and leaned forward for her phone. The back of her hands wiped away her eyes, as she searched her contacts for Livingston's number, transferring her make up to her hands and creating a bigger black smudge on her face. She breathed in heavily, taking another sip from the bottle to calm her nerves, as she pressed the green button.

Her cold mask was back on, as she tried to explain the situation as briefly as possible. She was left fuming as they left her on hold for what felt like an hour, before finally deciding that it wasn't something they could discuss over the phone, and leaving her with no say in the matter, they set a meeting for an hour's time.

The traffic had been a nightmare, and she arrived there five minutes late. She had barely had time to sort through the paper work, and gather the necessary papers from the mess that was her desk, along with sorting herself out. With a strong black coffee in hand, she had made her way to the car cursing Peter for not carrying through with his promise.

"Talk of the devil," she whispered to herself as soon as she had reversed the car into the street as her phone started ringing and Peter's name came up across the screen. Keeping her eyes on the road, she put it on speakerphone, as he inquired about her whereabouts.

"So much for I'll sort that out, ay Peter?" she breathed down the phone angrily.

"Simon needed me," he uttered, kicking himself for leaving her in this mess.

"So do I. Only I have to drive down for a flamin' meeting while you're sat at home doin' what?" she said furiously, feeling her bottled emotions rising again. "I ought to remind you, this was your idea Peter not mine."

"I was going to call them tomorrow," he said calmly, as she heard him sigh from the other end of the line. It took her a lot of self control and effort to not throw her phone out the window. His calmness was getting on her nerves. "I can call them and reschedule the meeting," he then added.

She shook her head, "oh and that'd make it so much better, wouldn't it?"

"I'll talk to them. I'm sure they'll understand love."

She hissed. "Oh I'm sure they will. They practically bounced at my idea when I called. That's how understanding they were. Why do you think I'm on the way there right now, ay?"

"Give me the address and I'll meet you there."

"Fat load of good that'd do. Too late for that, don't you think?"

He yearned to help her. "Come on Car."

"Peter, I'm trying to salvage this order," she breathed down the phone angrily, "not make things worse." She looked down at her watch, and pressed her foot down. "I'm already late as it is."

"I'm sorry love," she heard him whisper, as she ended the call.